


Heaven Flying Phoenix

by ingenious_spark



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal Ideation, the healing properties of phoenix tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/ingenious_spark
Summary: She's dying by inches, her life draining away with every beat of her heart. Her limbs feel like lead as she drags herself away from the volcano, no real thought in her head except to get away from the unbearable heat.Phoenix tears have healing powers.Esmeralda lives.





	Heaven Flying Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KnightlyWordsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightlyWordsmith/gifts).



> For teary-eyed-circle-of-friendship over on Tumblr. I guess I'm writing this now? I have no idea where the plot will go, so it's kind of low priority, but I hope you like it!

She's dying by inches, her life draining away with every beat of her heart. Her limbs feel like lead as she drags herself away from the volcano, no real thought in her head except to get away from the unbearable heat. 

Esmeralda should already be dead. When her father had struck her that last time she'd felt her skin split open, felt hot blood spill down her chest and bones crack and break. When Ikki had laid her down- gently, tenderly, tears dripping from his face to hers- she hadn't expected to ever get back up. When Esmeralda had closed her eyes, she thought- this is it.

And she'd been relieved, to be honest. Her father had only brought her with him to Death Queen Island for one reason: he hated cleaning and cooking; called it women’s work. Ever since her mother had died, years ago, Esmeralda had taken up her duties as the woman of the household. 

It had been terribly difficult to keep her chin up, to be defiantly kind to Guilty’s other victim, when they came here. But Ikki hadn't been able to choose his fate either, and he'd been kind in return, a gruff, surly kindness, but still. 

When Esmeralda had closed her eyes, her last sight Ikki’s back, straight and strong, as he rose to face her father, their abuser, she'd been quietly relieved. Her life, all fifteen short years of it, has been hardship and pain. Her mother's repeated soft words to have courage and be kind a mantra she tells herself every time her father hits her, every time he calls her worthless.

_ (She's not wholly certain her mother had meant she had to try to be kind to Guilty, but it had been a defense mechanism, if she's honest with herself. Kindness generally results more in verbal abuse than physical.) _

Now her kindness has come to nothing as she pulls herself inch by straining inch across hot, unforgiving stone, to the negligible shelter of a small, shallow cave. Esmeralda rests there, vision blurred and full of spots, gasping for breath around the sharp, hot pain in her chest. She raises trembling hands to feel the shape of her ribcage- are her ribs going to puncture her lungs? But to nerveless, shaking fingers, her bones are still in place, no irregularities that mean something’s snapped or shifted out of place. They burn like lava when she touches them, and she would weep if she had any tears to spend. But Esmeralda’s eyes are dry and burning from the incessant heat, her lips cracked and oozing blood as well. 

Why does dying hurt so much?

Why had Ikki left her if she hadn't yet been dead? Had he even thought to check her pulse? He'd cried over her, and she knows he thinks her really, truly dead. He's never cried before, not through all of the torment Guilty had heaped on him in the name of training. 

His tears had been warm on her face, somehow chasing the pain away in that instant. Like rain, or her vague memories of rain.

Esmeralda hasn't seen rain since they came here… she wonders how accurate her memories really are.

Why does dying take so long? She stares sightlessly up at the sky, chest still shallowly struggling for air against the pain of cracked ribs. She can't really see anything anymore, so she shuts her eyes. 

Please… if the gods really are real, then they will let her pass, peacefully. Her chest hitches with an abortive, dry sob, and that hurts even more. 

Esmeralda hears something soft, like the distant call of a bird. She hears the bird land, and flinches away, opening her eyes, weakly batting a hand. Something to chase the probable carrion bird away. She's still alive! They can't have her yet. 

The bird stays, she hears it hop closer. She gives another painful sob, trying with little success to roll away from the creature.

Something wet, and hotter than her blood, drying tacky amid the shreds of her dress and the bits of rock embedded in her skin, splashes against her chest.

The pain recedes, just a tiny fraction.

She blacks out.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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